


(Not) Jealous

by TinyWitchling



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 16:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20624297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyWitchling/pseuds/TinyWitchling
Summary: Crowley's not jealous. Why would he be? Because somebody was flirting with -his- angel, invading -his- territory?Alright, so, maybe just a little bit jealous.





	(Not) Jealous

The first day had started out so nicely. Crowley‘d gotten a good month of sleep, all the way through September in an honorary nap devoted to Green Day, waking up on the first October refreshed and ready to start into the best season of the year. Autumn was the perfect time for all kinds of mischief, from cars driving through puddles to spray people waiting for the bus over leaves seemingly reappearing whenever they had just been removed from the sidewalk to spooking people with surprisingly realistic Halloween costumes (that weren't really costumes at all). Autumn was a great season for demons.

Throwing the blankets aside, Crowley had miracled himself dressed (because nobody would be able to squeeze into pants that tight without a demonic miracle) and left his apartment to do what he always did after taking a long nap, which was check on his angel. Aziraphale did have a tendency to get himself in trouble, so he didn't go too long without checking on him these days. It was nice out, cold and sunny, not too cold for Crowley’s liking, the perfect day for a picnic, he pondered on his way to the shop. Aziraphale loved picnics, after all.

His day had been thoroughly ruined by Thomas. _Thomas_. The name alone made him hiss quietly. Thomas was the new owner of the café three houses down from Aziraphale‘s bookshop, "a very lovely place, they have the best macarons I‘ve eaten outside of France," the angel had told him once. Which was all fine and dandy, except Thomas had made an observation that Crowley had already made more than 6,000 years ago, the fact that Aziraphale was not only pleasant company, but an actual object of desire.

When Crowley had gone to sleep, Thomas hadn't been part of the picture. Now he learned that over the past weeks, he had come to the bookshop almost every day, bringing over baked goods (the fucker really knew the way to Aziraphale's heart, Crowley had to admit that), occasionally even flowers (which weren't nearly as pretty as Crowley's, thank you very much). His intentions were clear to anybody except Aziraphale himself, it seemed. The angel described him as 'pleasant company' and a 'good listener', but Crowley knew better. Thomas was courting Aziraphale.

The fact that _Thomas_ was flirting with _his_ angel woke every possessive instinct in him, made him want to mark his territory or conveniently make the man disappear, or maybe both, he wasn't picky. Except Aziraphale wasn't really his territory, not officially, anyway. He thought of him as his angel, but he'd never actually mentioned that. It should be a given thing, shouldn't it? But Aziraphale was ever so sweet to Thomas (though in all fairness, Aziraphale was sweet to everybody, as long as they didn't dare try to buy one of his precious books) and it drove Crowley up the wall. After the first day, Crowley found himself spending far more time at the bookshop than anywhere else, glaring at every customer that dared disturb his time with his angel, but _especially_ Thomas. Who came in every single damn day.

“They’re only leftovers today, I hope you don’t mind,” Thomas said with a charming smile as he handed Aziraphale a plate of those famous macarons. The angel’s eyes lit up with happiness, and it was only the knowledge that he’d upset him that kept Crowley from tossing one of the books beside him at the intruder. Oh, how satisfying the sound of a thick book meeting that thick head would be.  
“Oh my dear, it is quite alright. You are ever so good to me,” Aziraphale assured, taking one of the pink macarons and taking a bite with an appreciative hum. “As delicious as ever. You really have a hand for these.” Thomas grinned proudly, and Crowley wanted to scratch his eyes out. It took a lot of self-control not to pounce on him. Aziraphale was just being nice. There was nothing to worry about!

Except Thomas was touching Aziraphale, a simple little gesture, a hand on his arm as they spoke, but Crowley knew what this was about, and he could no longer sit still. He got up and came over, wrapping an arm around the angel’s shoulders and grinning a very predatory grin at the intruder. “Don’t you want to introduce me, angel?” There, now if that wasn’t marking his territory, he didn’t know. Thomas was unfazed, though. “You must be Crowley.”

“He is,” Aziraphale confirmed, sounding almost apologetic. “Crowley, this is Thomas.”  
“Ah yes, the boring baker,” Crowley hummed, lips twitching. “I’d say I heard much about you, but Aziraphale doesn’t really talk much about you.”  
“Crowley, dear, don’t be rude,” Aziraphale scolded him. “I’m sorry, Thomas.”  
“No no, it’s fine,” the baker said, keeping his charming smile and concentrating on Aziraphale. “I think I’d better go. But we’re doing lunch tomorrow, yes?”  
“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed, smiling brightly. “See you then.” He accompanied the other to the door, then turned back and was met with a very thunderstruck Crowley. He frowned, concerned. “Is everything alright, dear?”

Crowley felt like his brain had short-circuited, his mouth opening and closing for a while before he found his voice again. “You’re having lunch?! With that sleaze?!”  
“Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded again, frowning, “Stop being rude, Thomas is a very nice man.”  
“He wants into your pants, Aziraphale, nothing else!” Crowley accused, getting angry again.  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale snapped back. “We’re acquaintances, nothing more.”  
Crowley laughed cruelly. “You can be real naive sometimes, angel.” He knew immediately that he’d gone too far, seeing the angel bristle.  
“You are acting like a - like a real turnip, Crowley! You need to get your jealousy under control.”  
“Jealousy?!” Crowley spluttered. “I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous? I don’t care, you go have lunch with whoever you want!”  
“Well, maybe I will!”  
“Fine!”  
“Fine!”

They glared at each other for a long moment, then Crowley grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the shop. The moment he’d stepped past the door, he deflated, all anger disappearing. He didn’t like fighting with Aziraphale, and he liked the thought of him going out with somebody else even less. With a big sigh, he headed down the street and back home.

***

Two days after his dramatic exit, Crowley returned to the bookshop, carrying a box beneath his arm and letting himself in as always. “Angel?” he called, his heart swelling a bit when Aziraphale came around the corner. To his delight, Thomas was nowhere to be seen. He stepped down the stairs and stopped there, looking a bit like a kicked puppy. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out then. “I’m sorry, you were right, I was jealous, I am jealous, I don’t like that prick being all over you. But I don’t own you, you can be friends with whoever you want, it’s all fine.”

“It’s alright, Crowley,” Aziraphale assured him, smiling gladly, he didn’t like fighting with Crowley either. “You did have a point. Thomas, he… Well, he propositioned me yesterday during lunch.”  
The jealousy burned up in Crowley’s chest again, almost making him forget that he was here to make amends, almost making him storm off to go find Thomas and kill him. “Did he now?” he asked instead, gritting his teeth.  
“He did,” Aziraphale confirmed, “But I declined. I’m not interested in him that way.”  
It was like music in the demons ears, relief spreading through him. He tried not to show it too openly, though he failed quite utterly. “I see. That’s - a shame, I suppose.” Aziraphale just smiled at that, shrugging. Then his eyes fell on the box. “What’s that?”

Crowley looked down, only just remembering it. “Oh, this, well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, hesitating briefly, then handing it over. “I tried making these for you all day yesterday, but they’re really fucking difficult to make. I tried miracling them right, but that just made them taste odd. I think the last batch came out okay, though.”  
Aziraphale looked into the box, his heart swelling with affection. You needed a lot of imagination to see what Crowley had attempted to make, but the gesture was so sweet that it took his breath away. “You… You made macarons.”  
“Yep,” Crowley said, attempting to look casual about it (and failing utterly).  
“For me,” Aziraphale added.  
“Yep.”  
The angel looked up at him, his eyes soft and fond. “Oh, Crowley, that is so sweet…”  
Crowley huffed, looking away. “‘m not sweet,” he grumbled, but then he found himself with an armful of angel, making him look down in surprise. “Angel?”  
“You know, you’ll never have any reason to be jealous of anybody, my dear,” Aziraphale assured him, reaching up and gently taking the glasses off his face. “Nobody can compete with you.” Crowley’s lips spread into a wide grin.

In hindsight, neither of them was certain who had leaned in first, they just recalled their lips meeting in a gentle, long-overdue kiss, and it was perfect. “My angel,” Crowley hummed into the kiss, fingers threading through his blonde curls. “My demon,” Aziraphale murmured in response.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave comments to prevent the apocalypse ❤️


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